


To The Beat of the Drum

by tinsnip



Category: Deep Dish Nine - Fandom, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Concert, F/M, Infatuation, Kissing, M/M, and being ready to have some _fun_!, competition!, dressing up, feeling your heart beating in time with the music, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3912007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/pseuds/tinsnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tuveski thinks this could be a hell of a night. Rijal is interested, he's almost certain of it, and he knows for damned sure he's interested too... but how the hell is he ever going to get her alone when <em>Julian Bashir</em> is tagging along?</p><p>She thinks this could be a hell of a night. She's found him. He's without defenses. He's alone here. And she has some very good ideas of what can be done with a lonely Cardassian... Of course, this irritating skinny Terran is really getting in the <em>way--</em></p><p>Outsider POV of the DD9 Garak/Bashir relationship, along with fun times for the OCs in question. Everybody likes a concert! And Plixx Tixxaplik's in town!</p><p>Backbeat of this particular story provided by Ke$ha's <a href="https://youtu.be/NOubzHCUt48">"Die Young"</a>, and if you like it, please <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/album/die-young/id563381985?i=563382124&ign-mpt=uo%3D5">buy it!</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyYateXel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyYateXel/gifts).



> The Deep Dish Nine setting is the brainchild of a variety of folks over on tumblr. My interpretation of the setting is largely based on the headcanons I've dreamt up with ladyyatexel, who started me down this track. My Julian and Garak are ninety percent hers, and I thank her for them!
> 
> Key things to know about Deep Dish Nine:  
> 1\. All alien races are now Human cultures, and all Empires and Federations are now countries on a planet which is more or less Earth.  
> 2\. Deep Space Nine is now a pizzeria (and pretty much irrelevant to this particular story).  
> 3\. This is set approximately now.
> 
> After that, it's whatever you like!

_young hearts, out our minds, runnin' till we outta time_  
_wild child, lookin' good, living hard just like we should_  
_don't care who’s watching when we tearing it up (y’know)_  
_the magic that we got nobody can touch (for sure)_

She was backlit by the apartment light. Her hair was sticking up. She'd put some kind of gunk in it, and now it was all spiky. Her t-shirt had a flower on it. Her pants were too big. She was perfect.

"Ski!"

Oh, Prophets, she smelled like flowers, and she hugged him hard. He deep-down devoured the feeling of hugging her back. When she let him go she was grinning, and he had a horrible feeling he was blushing.

"Hey, Rij," he said, being cool.

"Good to see you. Come on in—you're really early!"

"Am I?" _Damned straight I am._ He'd made sure to leave about forty-five minutes before he needed to. It wasn't far to Rij's corner of the quadrangle, after all; he could've waited 'til almost eight, but this was better. This got them time together. A lot of things could happen if you had time together. She might smile. She might look at him again, that long look, the way she'd looked at him over the coffee cup before Munt had said something stupid. Welp, no Munt tonight, so no chance to fuck it up, _oh, yes, just gotta man up a bit, just gotta—_

Wait. There were other shoes by the door. Purple flip flops…

_Oh, you are fucking kidding me._

"Julian's here too?" He tried to smile. Sort of. It was hard to smile while snarling.

Rij half-smiled, half-frowned. "Yeah. He's going, we're going, so why not go together, right? Oh, Prophets, don't start." That last because, probably, Tuveski was pretty sure his eyebrows were doing something he'd really rather they didn't right now.

 _Stop it. Be ingratiating._ "I don't start. I never start, it's just… he's so—" _Damn it, damn it, damn it._ Munt was an amateur at lousing things up compared to Julian Bashir, king of rambling idiots and inexplicably someone Rij really liked. He'd have to be nice to him. All night. _Oh, damn it—_

"I said not to start." She narrowed her eyes. "I like him. I like you. You two need to figure out your own shit. _Na-cha?_ "

 _Really_ _…? Oh, holy Prophets, what have I done to piss you guys off?_ But it was Rij. And those eyes…

"Got it. I'll be smiles and sunshine."

She shot him one more irritated look—not at all the coffee-cup look—then switched back to a grin and tugged him into her apartment. It was the Rij-standard hurricane of binders teetering into books leaning up against boxes spilled over with clothes. Chaotic. _Celestial._

"You're gonna unpack one day, right?"

"It's only been a month. Lay off me." She plopped him onto the couch, turned and yelled, "Julian, Ski's here!"

There was a long pause. Which was kind of awesome.

"Great," came the reply, bathroom-echoey, and it didn't sound great. It sounded… a lot like Tuveski felt, actually. _Good. You ruin my night, I ruin yours._

"Come on out, sit with us!" She dropped on the couch next to him; he bounced with the impact (and he could just reach out an arm… _no, way too soon, holy Prophets, guy, chill_ _…)._

Julian's voice, muffled by the bathroom door, was tentative. Kind of wobbly-sounding. "Are you sure this is all right?"

She rolled her eyes. "Julian, I told you, you look hot."

 _Julian_ and _hot_ were two words that should never be in the same sentence together.

He leaned over, curious. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing. Just… I mean, you know how he dresses."

Yes. He did. "Big Al's Runabout Emporium."

"I don't even think that's a real place."

"I think the shirts just magically appear in his dresser."

"Anyway, it just didn't seem right for this. I mean, a concert, right?" She grinned. "You gotta look good, right? I mean, _you_ look good."

 _Don't levitate right off the couch._ Even though it really felt like he could—

"Thanks." Yeah. That was better. Super cool. Because he absolutely hadn't spent forever trying to decide on exactly the right pair of jeans and which t-shirt to throw on over top and adjusting his earring till it hung just so.

"No problem, guy. It's, uh… you know, it's never a problem to tell you when you look good." And for a second her eyes caught his—

"Okay, I'm coming out, but you can't laugh," came Julian's incredibly irritating voice, and the bathroom door swung open.

_Oh my actual Prophets._

"I said don't laugh," said Julian, shooting him an irritated look, which was not fair. He wasn't laughing. Okay, he was just about biting through his lower lip in an effort not to, but Prophets' temple, he was only human, and the sight of Julian in a ripped black t-shirt with some kind of mesh wrapped around his arm and his hair all spiky and—

"Is that eyeliner?"

"Christ," Julian said, reaching up with one hand to rub at his eyes.

"Don't you touch it," and Rij bounced up from the couch, grabbing his wrist. "I worked hard on that."

"You just went round and round—"

"I did not. Anyway, there's a special way to go round and round. That doesn't just _happen_."

"I look like an idiot."

"No, guy, you're totally fine," Tuveski managed, not laughing, really not laughing. "I like your, uh, arm thing."

"I don't even know what this is—"

"Quit yanking at it. You're gonna rip it." Rij stood back, eyeing her work. "Yeah, this is good."

"Better than Munt with the purple spikes." Poor little dude. He'd had to hide his hair under his grib until the purple washed out. Bad enough to be nearly bald at twenty-two. Worse to have what little hair he did have dyed fuchsia.

"I should've known better than purple for Munt. He's an autumn."

"I look stupid," came the inevitable whine. "I'm going to go change."

"Aww, muffin—"

"Shut up, Tuveski—"

Rij's voice overrode them both. "Julian, you are not going to go change because you look _fine_ , and _you_ ," she wheeled on him, "are gonna shut up now. All right? For me?"

No coffee eyes now. Not even a little. _Shit._ It just wasn't fair—he couldn't be nice with Julian around—damn it—

But it was _Rij._

He mimed zipping his lips, and Rij narrowed her eyes at him.

"All right." She turned back to Julian, who was awkwardly diddling with his hair. Kind of made sense, given that it appeared to be full of some kind of grease. "So we're not waiting for Garak?"

Julian puffed air and suddenly looked even more uncomfortable. "No, he's got something on. I mean, I didn't even ask. This is _really_ not his kind of thing."

"Yeah, I bet," said Rij, grinning. "Not enough literary allegory."

"Shut up. You don't even know what that is."

"Neither do you."

"Wait, wait," Tuveski interjected, "okay, this is really fascinating, but who the hell is Garak?"

Wow, this was really something. Julian's discomfort scale had gone from the highest he'd ever seen it to a new, previously unsuspected peak. He looked like he was gonna jitter out of his skin. Also, he was suddenly very glarey. "He's my… my…"

Tuveski waited. Nothing more seemed to be forthcoming. "Can I buy a vowel?"

"Ski. Be nice. Garak's his boyfriend."

"No, he's not!" Julian yelped.

"Oh, come on, I thought you'd gotten past this—"

"No, it's not that, it's just—I mean, _boyfriend?_ It's a stupid word. You've met him. Does 'boyfriend' fit?"

Rij scrunched up her face. "Mrmmm…"

"Right?"

"So what do you want me to call him?"

"Hell if I know! 'Partner' is ludicrous and 'significant other' is even worse—"

"Okay, hold on—look, I am sorry to keep holding up the conversation, but Julian has a boyfriend?" It was news to Tuveski. He was usually pretty up on things in their little circle of frenzied students, and hey, wait— "Guy, when Met've asked you out, you told him you don't swing that way!"

Julian rolled his eyes. "I _don't."_ A pause. "Usually."

Oh, this was good. This was way too good. "Hold on, med school." He grinned at Julian, held up his hands. "That's not how this kind of thing works."

"You're the expert, are you?" Now Julian looked less uncomfortable, more righteously annoyed.

"Seems like I know more about it than you."

"As proved by your exemplary dating record."

 _Ouch._ Shit, pick on a guy's dry spell— "Look, you don't—"

A little hand clamped over his mouth. Rij's hand. Suddenly words were really unimportant. _I am touching her skin with my lips oh Prophets_ and it would have been really incredible except her other hand was on Julian's mouth which was _really pissing him off._

"Shut the fuck up. Please. Both of you. You are really, really boring."

The hands dropped away ( _damn)_ and Julian immediately boiled over: "But he's—"

"I don't care what he's. No, Ski, I don't care about yours either," this last delivered as he seized the moment to get his own back; instead, he gulped and shut up. "I'm your ride. And you're broke. Also, since you guys are so nice and early, I wanna grab food. You can shut up and be nice and come with me, or you can get to the concert by yourselves." Her smile was cool; her eyebrow was twitching. "Are we good?"

Nnnngh. The universe was not fucking fair sometimes. Her and him alone together, amazing concert, smiles, lips, all the coulda-beens… all melted away in the harsh reality of Julian's tall, thin, nervous-Chihuahua presence. And now Rij was mad at him. "Yeah, we're good." _We're just fucking fine._

Julian's lips twitched, but he managed a "Yeah." It was sour as hell.

"Great. Glad to hear it. Come on." Rij shrugged into her jacket, snagged her purse, and slammed out of the apartment, leaving the two of them to slink after her in disgrace.

They followed her down the hall like sulky puppies, not looking at each other.

"I call shotgun—"

"Nobody rides shotgun. You both sit in the back."

"But my legs are too—"

"I'll move the chair up."

"Come on, Rij—"

"Behave, Ski…"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For translations of Rihannsu or linguistic notes, hover over the text or the asterisk.

_lookin' for some trouble tonight (yeah)_  
_take my hand, i’ll show you the wild side_  
_like it’s the last night of our lives (uh huh)_  
_we’ll keep dancing till we die_

 

All right, now: this was how it would go.

First, the approach. Subtle. Quick but not too quick; people would pay attention to a person who hurried. Instead, the trick was to walk as if she knew exactly where she was going and exactly what she'd do once she got there. Half of it was true, which was nice. And that would assure her that no one would watch.

Next, accessing the target. Locked doors would be no problem: she had three ways to deal with that in her purse alone and only one of those ways would make any noise. After that, the security system. If it was anything made in this hemisphere, she had the override code; if it wasn't, she had her purse.

Then, neutralizing any threat…

… of course, it didn't really seem very likely that there would be any kind of threat. Not to her person, at any rate. None that wouldn't make her smile later when she thought back to it, when she ached just a little.

_Elements, I'm excited._

Over-excited. Over-planning. _Breathe._ Air in, air out, steering wheel turning smoothly and slipping back through her hands as she entered the parking lot, angled easily into a space, parked, sat for a moment in silence. Rental cars always smelled the same: emptiness, unimportant histories. _Who knows where you've been?_

She smiled and patted the steering wheel affectionately, then unbelted, swung the door open and swung herself out, bag swinging with her. Her heels clicked briskly on the little plaza sidewalk as she walked along past a mechanic, a restaurant, a bar, an unassuming temple, a tailor—

_Stop, look, assess—_

—and no door opened, no one followed her as she continued past. That was almost disappointing: it had clearly been open and therefore occupied, although obviously not by who she'd hoped. Ah, well… couldn't believe everything you heard… still, it was worth a look; there'd been something excitingly green in the window.

 _Ding-ling_ went the little bell, and oh, it _was_ him, dark hair, pale skin, blue eyes, one hand on his desk and one underneath and rising slowly and so she ducked, slid herself behind a display of vibrant fabrics, stopped and waited, half-laughing, not breathing—

There was a moment of silence before she heard him chuckle.

"Jolan'tru u'mnek tempaeti ih nnearh, lhhei." 

She relaxed slightly; still, her hand rested within the open mouth of her purse. "U'ih khia, rhaetnen."

"Ih thei'nnumayri ve ih aeohh. Reh culhas errhiukhe raeler rham rhyssi." 

"Ahr'kaefh rrhaar," she said, letting her laughter slip into her voice, and she leaned around the display (of scarves, apparently). "Hwi payrlaiyha hrrau khiilha aeu ahr'ih'sanhae arhem."

"Ih ahr'ih'sanhaeukhe-difv? Idh fhyyrlho." His smile was wide with eyes to match, and he spread his hands. Both hands. Clearly visible and empty.

She slipped her hand out of her purse and walked out from behind the display as if she'd merely ducked behind it to peer at a scarf. "We can speak Standard, if you'd like. As long as you promise it will do away with this inferiority complex you seem to have developed." *

"I do appreciate that kindness," he said in that well-remembered, meticulously enunciated voice. "I'm afraid my Romulan has gotten a bit rusty."

"You seemed to manage fine. Then again, you always were good with your tongue."

His smile widened a fraction, and he looked her up and down thoughtfully. Not with any kind of interest… simply assessing her. _Oh, I like you_ _…_

"May I ask what brings you to my humble shop?" His tone was calm. She might have been anyone.

"Oh… curiosity, mostly." She ran her hand down a silky skirt, traced its embroidered belt. "I'd hoped to see how you were, perhaps have a cup of coffee… talk about old times…"

"Ah, yes. Old times. How pleasant they were."

"They weren't all bad, were they?"

"My elbow still aches on cold days…"

"As does my shoulder. A good thing I'm not based here; it strikes me as a bit chilly for my liking."

"Don't remind me," he said, smiling, and rested his hands on the countertop, fingers spread wide. It was hard not to look. She knew those hands very well. "And you found my shop easily, did you?"

"Not that easily. You don't advertise."

"A good tailor has no need to advertise. His customers do it for him." She laughed; he tilted his head. "Although I am surprised you ran into someone who frequents my shop. I would have thought your social circle would not often intersect with my own…?"

"I have my sources."

"Of course you do. You always did. They never would talk to mine…"

"Don't be jealous."

"Only appreciative of your resourcefulness, my dear."

 _Oh_ _…_ that was promising. "And am I still your dear?"

"I'm not certain what to call you. It seems a good default."

And that wasn't. "Just a default?"

His smile was calm, quiet. "Is there something you'd prefer I call you?"

 _You know damned well what I want you to call me._ "Hmm. Why not be traditional? In honour of… old times?"

"Ah." An appreciative tilt of the head. "Romulan you are, then."

"Very well, Cardassian. Although…" She picked up a business card from the little black tray on the countertop. Obsidian, probably. _You always were one to advertise._ "Hmm. I must say, 'Garak' is a very nice name. As Cardassian names go, anyway."

He sketched a bow. "Thank you."

"How'd you come to choose that one?"

"I didn't. It was chosen for me."

Was she wrong? Was he still working? _No handler I know of_ _…_ "I see." She'd just have to be slightly more careful, that was all.

"May I help you in any way? Would you like to know anything about that particular garment?"

She realized she had a dark red sleeve in her hand. She'd been rubbing its fabric. Soft but strong… "Did you really make this?"

"I did."

"It's beautiful." Fine knit, sliding softly beneath her fingers… "What is this material?"

"Scront wool. From Tellar."

"Elements, really?" She dropped it as if she'd been stung. "Those are the ugliest animals I've ever seen."

"But their wool makes a lovely sweater." His voice was smooth, but she saw the amusement sliding beneath the bland expression on his face.

"Not nice to laugh at your customers, tailor. That's hardly the appropriate attitude for a shopkeep who wants to make a sale."

"I've always enjoyed you most when caught off-balance."

Oh. So there was something there, then. Which meant…

"What are you doing after you close up shop, Cardassian?"

He blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Your plans. For tonight. Do you have any?"

He laughed low in his throat. "If you really expect me to go anywhere with you—"

"Don't worry. Nowhere unobserved." _To start off, at any rate._ "Like I said, I really would like to talk with you. It's been years." _And I've missed you._ "You always had a way of making the job more interesting."

"Mmm." His gaze dropped. "It did have its dull moments."

"Remember Proket?"

"Ah, the conference… how long ago was that now?"

"I don't even want to know."

"I thought it would never end. Diplomats downstairs bickering back and forth about Romulo-Cardassian relations…"

"The negotiations upstairs were far more interesting, I thought."

"We agreed on terms, certainly."

"Is that what you'd call it?"

So many teeth in that smile when he wanted to show them off. Her stomach turned over. _Terrified. Delighted._

"I'll tell you what," he said, and leaned forward, imparting a secret. She leaned in to meet him, let herself hang just a few inches away. "We'll have coffee together. Catch up. And I'll decide if you're safe to be around."

"I'm never safe to be around."

"That's what I'm counting on. And after that, if you'd like, you may attend a concert with me."

"I may, may I?"

"You may. It's a large venue, no fear. Lots of observers. And I do so hate to attend these things on my own." A smile, a slow blink. "Or, if you prefer, you can leave town and never, ever come back." His hands opened. "Either way, we both stay safe…"

Elements, she could bite him. "Those are very disparate options."

"I like to keep things clear."

"What kind of concert?"

"A trifle avant-garde for your tastes, perhaps…"

"I can keep up with you."

"We'll see," he said, and oh, so many teeth.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sourcing my Rihannsu grammar and vocabulary from [the Imperial Romulan Language Institute](http://www.rihan.org/drupal/), which is remarkably complete.  
> That said, I had to make up one word: "rhyssi", for "customer".


	3. Chapter 3

They'd had to park about a light-year away from the stadium. Not really a surprise. When Plixx Tixxaplik came to a podunk place like Alpha City, the entire city went to the show.

Signs of the concert started showing up more and more often the closer they got. Here: four teenagers, giggling, wearing Plixx shirts, exuding hormones and excitement. There: a couple, rocking slowly, sharing earphones (now there was a thought…). More and more people, milling gently, creeping closer to the stadium just like they were, the slow pace of their step matched by the multitude. It was a warm night. Everybody felt good. Everybody was smiling. He snuck a sideways look at Rij beside him. She was grinning, bobbing as if she could already hear the music. Even the awkward craning profile of Julian next to her couldn't ruin the view. _Maybe this won't be so bad._

"The line's pretty long."

"That's okay. Once we're here, we're here." Rij shrugged. "They've gotta get us all in, right?"

They queued, fumbling for tickets, verifying that yes, this was gonna happen, and all right, maybe he was acting a little cooler than he really was, because he was actually pretty Prophets-damned excited about this. He hadn't been to a big concert, a _really_ big concert, in two years, since he'd seen Cholta Fretz in Tellar. This was gonna be better. For one thing, he wasn't gonna have to crash with Gri gav Umfey, who snored like a freight train.

"Think she's gonna play 'GPL'?"

"She has _got_ to," said Julian, who he hadn't expected to be the one to answer that question. "God, there is just nothing better than that song."

"I'd rather hear 'Runabout'." Rij punched the air, grinning. "That song makes me wanna kick ass."

"Everything makes you wanna kick ass." Julian laughed.

"Not my fault. I was born this way." She mock-punched Julian in the stomach, he mock-folded, and Tuveski was totally fine with it and not jealous. Okay, maybe a little jealous. _I'm three years old, I swear to the Prophets_ _… but Rij, pay attention to me!_

Here was a thought, here was a redirection: "Hey—you guys wanna play 'what the fuck'?"

Rij pondered, laughed, nodded. "Yeah, that'll kill time."

"Wait, hold on," said Julian. "What the what?"

"'What the fuck.' As in 'what the fuck' is this person doing here."

"You find someone who doesn't fit, and you… figure them out." Rij wriggled her fingers as if working a puzzle.

"Oh. Nice. All right." Julian's eyes lit up, and he scanned the crowd. "Ummm… that guy."

"Don't _point—"_

As Rij slapped Julian's hand down, Tuveski narrowed his eyes at their quarry. Older guy. Buzz cut. Chin like a slab of meat. Plaid shirt. Definitely stood out. Plixx concerts tended to be heavy on the thirty-and-unders. He didn't even look happy to be here. "Not really a typical fan, eh?"

"Look for the kid," said Rij.

"Oh, of _course—"_

"The kid?" said Julian, confused.

"Bet you money. Yep—there she is."

The squealing twelve-year-old bounced with her gaggle of friends, standing far enough away from the older guy that they were _totally_ not with him, how lame, they had completely come to this concert by themselves and that old dude near them was not anybody's _dad_ and uh huh, yep, he could see it now. "Good catch."

"Why else would he be here?" Rij shrugged. "Look at his face. He's in hell."

"Poor bastard," breathed Julian, and Tuveski for once agreed with him.

"How about them?" Rij tilted her head, indicating a much older couple, clutching their tickets. They looked like they hadn't been outside since First Contact. Might be Vulcan—they had the haircuts for it. And the composure. Sort of composure. Could also be tightly-controlled panic. "They can _not_ be here for Plixx."

"Huh. Might be…" But the Vulcan demographic wasn't really Plixx's thing, unless you counted 'Hard As Seleya'… Wait, something was tickling the back of his mind. "There's an opening act, isn't there?"

"Right, yes," said Julian, "the Voices of Logic. Pretty famous, actually. Do you know, they do an entire sequence of vocalizations based on Fibonacci's sequence? Almost unlistenable, but pretty technically impressive…"

He wound down under dual Bajoran stares.

"Why on Earth do you know that?" asked Rij.

"I know a lot of things. And it's on the website, anyway." He blinked at them. "Anyway, I bet that's why they're here."

Rij pursed her lips. "Why the hell are the Voices of Logic opening for Plixx Tixxaplik?"

"Pet project, I bet," said Tuveski, because he really wanted back into the conversation. "I heard over in Betazed the opener was a group of gymnasts from Risa."

"That would've been cool…" Rij was wistful. "Better than Fibonacci."

Julian shrugged. "You never know."

"I can be pretty sure."

"Anyway, it's all good." This was getting boring. "We'll survive. Plixx at the end." He lifted his hand; Rij slapped it, laughing.

"Right. Anyways, more what the fuck."

"Okay. How about…" Oh. That one was neat. Medium-sized guy. Slicked-back hair. Probably the whitest person Tuveski had ever seen. _Gotta be at least part Cardassian._ Way too well-dressed… "That guy."

Rij and Julian turned, curious—

"Oh my God—"

"Hey, isn't that—"

"Oh my God, I'm wearing—"

"I didn't know he was—"

_"Oh my God, I'm wearing eyeliner!"_

Julian's eyes were panic-wide. He wrapped his arms around himself, then caught a glance of his own net-arm-thing and somehow his eyes got even wider. "Shit, shit, shit—"

"Stop it! Don't mess with your clothes, don't touch anything—" Rij was in damage-control mode, voice stern, hands out to slap Julian's down just in case, and Tuveski watched in delight as Julian twitched.

"I look _ridiculous!"_

"You look _amazing,_ and believe me, he is gonna get that. He works in fashion, right?"

"Not _this_ kind of fashion!" Could Julian's eyes _get_ bigger?

"Chill. The. Fuck. Out."

"Oh, God," said Julian again, and dropped his head into his hands, and this was all really awesome, especially the bit about Julian's tiny freakout, but Tuveski was feeling kind of in the dark. "Somebody wanna explain the problem?"

"Oh." Rij refocused on him. "Shit, right—you've never met him."

"Never met _who?"_

Rij grinned and leaned in, up on her tiptoes, kissably close. "That's Julian's boyfriend."

 _Kissably close_ warred briefly with _fucking hysterical._ For a second, his brain hurt. But he just couldn't ignore that one—

 _"That's_ Julian's _boyfriend?"_

He looked again, _really_ looked, doing his best to ignore Julian, who'd now graduated to quiet embarrassed moans. "He's gotta be at least fifty!"

"He's not fifty!" Down came the hands, and Julian had apparently now switched from terror to impassioned defense. "He's not that much older than I am, actually!"

"In, like, geological time," said Rij.

"Rij!"

She giggled. "Just bugging you. He looks good tonight, man. Pretty DILFy. No more watermelon shirt, eh?"

Julian didn't respond, unless Tuveski wanted to count his rapid-fire blinking as some kind of response. He was staring at his boyfriend, caught between surprise and panic.

Tuveski took the moment to take a longer look. The guy in question was dressed like some kind of supervillain. Dark suit. Dark hair. Dark coat. Dark shoes. All of it looked really expensive. _Huh._ Not really what he'd expected from someone who'd consider dating Julian. "How'd you meet this guy?"

"He came in for pizza and Julian was totally into the obscure Cardassian book he was reading," said Rij.

"Rij, it's none of his—"

"And then they went for coffee and the guy said it wasn't a date but if it _was_ a date would Julian go on another one, and Julian said yes—"

"Rij—"

"And then they kept dating even though Julian wasn't sure it was dating, but now he's pretty sure because I hear about it all the Prophets-damned time—"

"Oh my God—"

"Although, take note, Julian has _not_ told me shit about their sex life—"

"Would you please _stop!"_

"Yeah, I gotta second that," said Tuveski, waving his hands. "I mean, I hate to spoil your fun but I really, really do not need that image."

Julian shot him an angry look. "Thanks a _lot._ _”_

"What, you _want_ me thinking about you and him—"

_"No."_

"Right. Me neither." One more look. "Man, I do not get it."

Julian raised his brows, looking offended before he'd even said anything. "What don't you get?"

"How'd you develop a yen for"—he glanced back at the guy—"older dudes who are, let's face it, a bit on the chubby side?"

“That’s not your business, is it, Tuveski? In fact, none of this is!”

“Anyway,” Rijal butted in, “he doesn’t love him for his looks, he loves him for his _miiind—_ _”_

“Can you not, Rij? Please?” Julian ran a hand over his face, and oh, Prophets, the guy was blushing. _Seriously?_ “He’s just... he’s extremely well-read, all right?”

_Well, now I've heard everything._

“Huh. So all it took for you to swing the other way was the right fifty—sorry, _forty-_ year old librarian."

“He’s not a librarian!” Julian was indignant.

“Oh, yeah? What is he?”

“He’s...” Julian’s lips set. “He’s a tailor.”

“Oh, Prophets, that’s _ten_ times better. I think I’m gonna go jump him myself.” He bit his lip as Julian emitted a strained noise. "Oh… maybe I'd better not. Looks like he's got company."

"What?" Julian cranked his head around, frowning a bit as he peered.

"Who is that?" Rij was curious. "Does she work in the plaza too?"

"A plaza romance," Tuveski sang, "it just gets better…"

"Shut up. No, I've never seen her before…"

She was something to look at. At first casual glance he'd pegged her as cougarish—older than him and still really pretty, and why the hell else would she be at a Plixx concert except to do a little prowling?—but now he took the time to really look…

Dark hair, straight and precision-cut. Eyebrows just as dark and tweezed to points. Slightly olive-ish skin. Tall—taller than the boyfriend—and almost scary thin. Black dress. Black heels. She looked dangerous.

"You got competition, buddy?"

"No. Shut up."

"Because she—man, she looks kind of into him—"

"Shut up, Ski," said Rij, and so this time he actually did shut up, and just in time too, as the boyfriend, who'd been idly watching the crowd and chatting to the scary woman, suddenly locked eyes with him.

Holy _Prophets._

"What the hell," he whispered to Rij, whose brows were up. "Is he a Bond villain or what?"

"Yeah, I don't know, this is new," she said, voice low. "He wasn't this scary last time."

But then there was no time for sotto voce chat, because scary boyfriend and scary woman were coming their way, moving _back_ in the line—

"Hello, my dear!" said the scary boyfriend in a voice that did not sound at all like the voice that should be paired up with eyes like a shark's. "I didn't expect to see you here!"

"Hi, Garak," said Julian in a voice that suggested that eyes like a shark's and a voice like a fussy librarian were just about the sexiest things ever to come down the pipe. "Likewise."

Likewise? _Really?_

Julian was still making noises with his mouth. "Um, I'm—look, sorry about… all this," as he gestured to himself, "it really wasn't my idea, only Rij insisted—"

"Ah," said scary shark man. "Of course." He turned to Rij, inclining his head. "My dear, you have a natural talent."

"Really?" Rij warmed right up. "Thanks."

"You _like_ it?" said Julian, flabbergasted.

"Oh, yes, my dear. Very daring. Perhaps a bit much for daily wear…" Now he looked Julian up and down, which kind of made Tuveski want a shower. "Although I believe I could be persuaded…"

"In that case he has to buy his own eyeliner," said Rij, and scary man's eyes flicked to her, smile widening. Julian stood there opening and closing his mouth as Rij and scary man—Garak. Garak, not scary man, _holy shit, Tuveski—_ grinned at each other.

"Haven't seen you in a bit. How're you doing?"

"Well enough, my dear. And yourself?"

"Busy, you know how it is—school is crazy—"

"So says Julian." Garak's smile twisted in amusement. "Sometimes he forgets to eat."

"Yeah, that is not a problem I have."

"I'm glad to hear it."

The two of them shared a nod. Some kind of foodie thing. Great. Bonding. Meanwhile it would be nice to be allowed into the conversation—

"You look good too, Garak," said Julian, shoehorning himself in, cutting Tuveski off in mid-inhalation.

"Great suit. Did you make it?" asked Rij.

Garak's smile was now less shark, more self-satisfaction. "A minor example of my work." He brushed at his lapel, lips pursed, and it was really hard for Tuveski not to roll his actual eyeballs out of his head. _Oh my fucking Prophets, what even is this guy?_

"I like it. Very much." Julian's voice was low, but it carried. Garak's eyes widened for a moment.

"I'll remember, my dear. In that case you'll see it again."

"Hi," said Tuveski, because if he didn't get into this conversation soon he was going to be ill. "I'm Tuveski."

"Indeed? Hello. A pleasure to meet you." Garak offered a hand, and Tuveski had to think on his feet as he rotated his hand from _handshake_ to _palm-press_ — _right, they don't shake hands,_ and also his hand was _cold_ , ugh!

"Sooo." What did you say to a scary librarian shark man while you tried to rub circulation back into your frozen fingers? "You… like Plixx Tixxaplik?"

"Not at all," Garak said, shaking his head, "but I do have a fondness for the Voices of Logic."

"Oh, _really?"_ said Julian, suddenly not at all confused and instead completely zeroed in on the one thing that interested him. "I didn't know you liked them! How'd you get into—"

"They _are_ in my music collection, my dear—"

"Yeah, along with a bunch of other stuff that is, frankly, really dull—"

"Just because you can't appreciate the purity of Cardassian single-note fugues—"

"Purity, really, I'm not sure—"

"So, I'm Rij," said Rij brightly, holding out a hand to the scary woman, "and they aren't gonna shut up for a while, so we might as well get to know each other."

The scary woman looked a bit taken aback. Her eyes flicked over Rij, once, top-to-bottom. Rij's smile stayed steady. Scary woman smiled slowly in return, which proved she was sane.

"That sounds like an inspired idea." She nodded once, sharply, and her hair dipped down in dark wings. "I'm Rihanha."

That sounded like a Romulan name, probably. Huh. He didn't know any Romulans personally, but he knew enough, and they'd just read S'task's _Sword of Swords,_ so maybe… yeah. He risked it and bowed.

"Tuveski," he said, keeping his head down, then straightened himself up feeling a bit like an asshole—oh. Nope. Apparently that had been right in two ways: first, scary woman was outright smiling, and second but oughta-be-first, Rij's eyes had gone wide.

"What lovely etiquette," Rihanha said. She didn't offer a bow back. Okay, fair enough, there was probably a lot of status stuff. The way Rij was looking at him made up for any potential slight.

"Do you like the Voices of Logic too?"

_Oh, shit, Rij, maybe not—_

No, apparently Rihanha wasn't offended. Her smile tightened a bit, that was all. "I'm not usually partial to Vulcan music, no."

Rij caught that and clamped her mouth shut. Julian was still burbling at scary-Garak, who was seeming less scary by the second but who was not minding his Romulan. That left Tuveski. _Shit._ Right, conversation: "So how'd you end up getting dragged along?"

"I volunteered," she said, casting a glance Garak's way. "It was that or leave town forever, apparently."

"Um, ha ha," said Tuveski, not quite sure if that was funny but deciding to work with it. "Well, you never know, you might really like it!"

"I do find that things reveal their depths if you give them enough time," she said. "It's usually worth it to watch and wait."

He nodded, not really sure what to say now, and Rij was side-eying Julian, apparently feeling it was time to bring him back into the conversation.

"—it's the bits with the piano I really like, when they—don't yank my arm, Rij!"

"Julian. Come meet Rihanha."

"Oh, I _do_ apologize," said Garak, suddenly not scary at all. "How rude of me."

Julian stood blinking as Rihanha turned her smile on him, giving him the same flickering up-down she'd given Rij. "Hello, young man."

Julian's brows flicked up. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise."

"Did you say your name was Rihanha?"

"Oh, you did hear me. I wasn't sure."

"That's a bit of a strange name, isn't it."

 _Prophets, guy._ Give Julian three seconds and he'd always turn out to be a social disaster. Rihanha's brows drew together.

"Is it?"

"Well, it literally means 'Romulan' in Rihannsu, doesn't it? A bit like me being named 'Terran'."

Rihanha blinked, smiled wider. "Are you really? What a coincidence."

Julian smiled even wider. You could almost see his molars. "Julian, actually."

"Shaoi ben."

"Shaoi dan."

Tuveski and Rij stood together watching this in slightly amazed confusion.

"Did you know he spoke any—"

"Nope," breathed Rij. He could hear the laughter in her voice. "Look at Garak."

Scary man now appeared to be made primarily of smug delight. Rihanha's quick sideways glance took it in.

"Perhaps, Julian, we'd better keep to Standard. For the comfort of those around us. You understand."

"Of course, Rihanha. I certainly wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."

_Holy Prophets. They're gonna kill each other._

"Sooo," said Rij, apparently not wanting a bloodbath, "how do you know Garak?"

"Oh," and Rihanha laughed a dark sort of laugh, "we're old friends. We've known each other for… mmm, how long would you say, Garak?"

"I wouldn't venture to guess," said Garak.

"Long enough, I suppose. Long enough to know each other quite well." That last seemed to be aimed Julian's way. He caught it.

"Funny I haven't met you before, then." He smiled toothily.

"Should you have?"

"I think so."

"Why is that?"

Garak was watching this, eyes flicking back and forth. "My dear—"

"One tends to meet the _close_ friends of one's boyfriend."

_No hesitation anymore, huh?_

"Oh! Really? He's your… 'boyfriend'!" Rihanha directed this at Garak, pronouncing the word as if it had been plucked from an incredibly strange and slightly backwards language. "That's charming!"

Julian's smile widened. "Thank you."

"My _dear—"_

Rihanha was still speaking only to Garak. "How lucky you are to have caught yourself such a pretty young piece of eaha'le."

Okay, wow, Tuveski didn't know what eaha'le was—nope, Rij didn't either—but apparently both Garak and Julian did, and that was Garak's cue to sidestep in and slip a hand into the crook of Julian's arm, smiling… weirdly. "I do consider myself very fortunate indeed to be involved with such an intelligent and well-spoken man."

"Thank you, Garak. I feel the same way about you," said Julian, covering his hand with his own. "We certainly are a lucky couple, aren't we."

"Now I don't remember you believing in luck, Garak." Rihanha seemed coolly amused.

"Not typically, no," said Garak, voice measured, "but I'd be a fool to ignore the evidence when it's right in front of me."

"Okay," said Rij, apparently about as uncomfortable as Tuveski was, "guys, the line is moving—we gotta go."

Julian dropped his arm, but he kept a grip on Garak's hand and tugged it to his throat, looking into his eyes. "I'll see you later, will I? Tonight?"

"If that's what you'd like," said Garak, low-voiced and smiling, and yeah, okay, that was enough of that; Tuveski jogged up a few steps until he was next to Rij, bumped her shoulder, grabbed her arm—just gently—

"Let's get going before they start making out."

"You got it," she said, smiling up at him as the crowd jostled around them, and for a second he wasn't actually certain they were walking, it seemed very possible that he was floating a few inches above ground…

"Wait up! Wait up, guys!"

Back to earth. _Fuck._

"Seriously, Julian?"

"What?" He bounced on his toes, looking at them. "We're going to the show together, right?"

"Thought you might want to stay with your librarian." Tuveski squinted meaningfully back at scary-Rihanha, at her dark head bent next to Garak's. "Or do you think she can take care of him for you?"

"Knock it off, Ski." Rij's voice held a warning.

"Oh, I don't think—I mean, I don't really think that there's any—" Julian was trying his damnedest to not look back and to not look worried. "How good a friend can she be, really, if I've never heard of her?"

"Good enough to kiss his cheek, apparently."

 _"What?"_ And Julian spun on his foot, eyes wide, to take in what Tuveski'd just seen: Rihanha pulling back, and a clear mark of light-green lipstick on Garak's cheek. Garak, for his part, looked slightly scandalized, and was saying something sharp, which Rihanha didn't seem to be taking very seriously.

"I thought Cardassians didn't kiss in public," said Rij, her voice low.

"They _don't."_

"Romulans do," observed Tuveski, and watched jealousy hit Julian in the gut like a medicine ball. "Sure you don't wanna stay with him?" _And leave us alone, so I can find where I put my balls and actually say something to the woman who is literally turning my knees to water?_

"No. It's fine. I… I trust him. It's fine." Which was convincing as hell, especially seeing as how it was immediately followed by a double-handed hair ruffle that left him more than a little roosterish.

"Fuck. Don't do that. Come here." Rij yanked his shoulder, bending him nearly double so she could put right what he'd put wrong. "Don't touch your hair. Don't touch your eyes. We talked about this."

"Sorry, Rij. It is fine. It _is,_ right?"

Augh. Fuck it. _Prophets, give me strength._ "Come _on,_ you guys, if you wanna get in, the line's moving!"

The crowd took them, squeezed them, pressed them together and in until they burst into the arena, tickets in hand, leaving scary lady and scary man and all their assorted scariness to file in sedately with the other what-the-fucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, the [Imperial Romulan Language Institute](http://www.rihan.org/drupal/dictionary/a) provided me with the words and modes I needed.


	4. Chapter 4

The noise followed Tuveski as they jogged down the hall, through the giant doors, down the walkway to the front, yeah, the _very_ front, good spot, if only the noise would _stop—_

"Listen, though, really, he _is_ amazing, you mustn't think he isn't just because of _her,_ I mean I don't even know who she is, and I'm not reading anything into that, she certainly doesn't seem representative of his taste in friends, um, not that he has many, not that he _couldn't_ have friends, I think he's just a bit picky—"

Tuveski stopped. He spun. He spread his hands.

"Guy. I do not _care."_

Julian wound to a stop, a few steps behind Tuveski and Rij, arms hanging pathetically. Even his spiky hair seemed to sag.

"I know you don't."

"Then stop talking."

"I don't think I can."

"He gets like this," said Rij, shaking her head. "He's not very good at keeping his thoughts in his head."

"That's gotta get annoying."

"Tell me about it."

"If you two could not talk about me as if I wasn't here, that'd probably help." Julian's voice was sandpaper-irritable. He ran a hand up to his hair, froze under Rij's glare, wilted.

"Are we just supposed to ignore you? Because that I could probably do."

"Fuck off, Tuveski—"

"Julian," said Rij, "is this woman seriously stressing you out this much?"

"I don't know. I don't _know."_

"Do you think there's something going on between her and Garak—"

"I _completely_ don't," said Julian unconvincingly, "I mean, we're exclusive as far I know—"

"Wait, wait," Tuveski put in helpfully, "two hours ago you weren't even sure if he was your boyfriend—"

"That's not so!" Julian raised a finger. "I knew damned well he was _something._ I just wasn't sure what the proper terminology was."

Oh, Prophets. But Rij was laughing. "You have nothing to worry about, guy."

Julian's hands were at his temples, folded into fists so he wouldn't stick his fingers in his hair again, probably. "Completely. Definitely."

"There is no way Garak's going to fool around on you." Rij was trying to be helpful. Julian, meanwhile, was wincing. So was Tuveski.

"This is such a weird conversation, I'm not at all prepared for it." Julian's voice was an elongated moan.

"Think of how I feel."

"Fuck _off,_ Tuveski—"

"She's seriously not getting anywhere. Don't worry." Rij's grin was wide, and she patted Julian's shoulder reassuringly, which was fine and not at all something to be jealous about.

"How can you _know_ that?" Julian's eyes were wide, his mouth drooping. He looked incredibly pathetic.

"I just do," said Rij. "Trust me on this. Have I ever steered you wrong?"

"Well, there was the time with the—"

"Not counting that."

"And the time you made me drink the—"

"Well, okay, but how was I supposed to know—"

"And, God, the time that Andorian woman wanted to play strip tongo—"

"That actually worked out pretty well—"

"Right, okay, well, this is a great walk down memory lane, but some of us are here to see a concert," Tuveski said, not at all snippily and in fact very politely, when you considered the incredibly irritating situation of the Third Wheel that Wouldn't Shut Up. "If that's okay with you, of course."

Julian blinked, droopiness fading into a little tiny and very punchable smile. "Sorry, Tuveski. I didn't realize you were such a fan of the Voices of Logic." He mimed zipping his mouth, rolling his eyes at Rij, who was doing the same thing, _fuck!_ Couldn't target one without winging the other! Damn!

"Just… never mind. It's not about that. I just don't want to bother the people around us." That was reasonable, right? Never mind that the people around them mostly wanted to drink beer and yell variations on _wooooo,_ which didn't really suit the aesthetic of the Voices of Logic, who were tuning up with extremely Vulcan serenity.

"Of course," said Julian, suddenly back in comfortable territory. "I forgot about your well-known propensity for respecting the wishes and privacy of others. _So_ rude of me, so absent-minded—"

"Look, guy, you wanna talk about respecting privacy, you first have to figure out how to keep the things you think _inside_ your head—starts with actually not _activating_ your tongue—"

"Okay, not as funny as you think you are, either of you, now _shut up—"_


	5. Chapter 5

_young hunks, taking shots, stripping down to dirty socks_  
_music up, gettin’ hot, kiss me, give me all you’ve got_

* * * 

His shoulders were up, and his wriggly Cardassian body language was telling her she'd been a very naughty girl. She walked behind him, admiring how his pants framed his legs and parts north, biting back laughter.

"Don't be upset."

"I'm hardly upset."

"Then don't be hardly upset."

"I'm not sure why you think there's anything to be upset about—"

"Neither am I, but clearly I've committed some unforgivable sin."

"You think too highly of yourself."

"You never used to mind."

"You never used to matter."

"Oh, do I matter now?"

"Not to me."

"But to him?"

That got her a sharp glance back.

"He's a very pretty little secret. I don't blame you for wanting to keep him to yourself."

"I'm not keeping him secret."

"Oh, but I imagine you were none too pleased when he turned up tonight." And no imagination was required, really. Elements, hadn't Garak's face been a picture! "He quite spoiled your dangerous image, didn't he."

"I don't know what you mean."

"And him meeting someone like _me_ _…_ well, that's not something you'd ever planned for, is it… Such a sweet, gentle soul. Tell me, does he know?"

A particularly vicious finger-twitch at that one. He stopped, turned, stared into her eyes. "What do you think?"

"You're not stupid. He hasn't a clue about you."

"And I'd like to keep it that way, thank you."

"By all means." She spread her hands, inclined her head. "Forgive me for causing your constructed life to wobble."

That got her another sharp look, but he nodded and gestured her on. They walked together with the flow of the crowd, up to the seats set a bit further back. They weren't in the thick of the crowd. That was pleasant. She wasn't especially fond of crowds as a general rule.

He sat himself delicately down, mouth drawn up into a slightly displeased moue, and she smiled as she did the same. "Try not to think about what might have been spilled on these seats."

"Must you always choose such unpleasant topics of conversation?"

"But they're the most interesting!"

He looked over at her, calm smile back on his face. "I'm sure I can think of something more interesting to talk about."

"Oh? Are 'boyfriends' allowed to be interesting?"

He ignored her emphasis, which was a pity. "Are you so fascinated with my romantic entanglements?"

"I'd rather hoped to be one. I'm a bit put out, quite frankly." She brushed at imaginary lint on her nylons, smiling, taking the chance to admire the shape of his thigh, resting on the red fabric of his seat. Once upon a time, her teeth had marked him just _there_ _…_ "Haven't you room for any more?"

"Thank you, but I am spoken for."

"Would that have been true if he hadn't caught you red-handed?"

His eyes widened. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're insinuating."

"I think you might." His jacket was really a very nice fit. "A concert, a cup of coffee, a taxi home… don't you think we could have found a dark space to arrange matters?" Mmm… yes, very nice. Broad shoulders, strong neck… "We still could. There are always borders to be redrawn…"

"I'm not remotely interested."

"You know that you could tell him nothing happened. He'd believe you. You always had such a clever mouth—"

"Enough," he said politely, and under the word was the careful slice of steel. Suddenly it wasn't any fun to tease at all.

She turned back to the concert, stared down at the not-too-far-away stage on which Vulcans were clanging away at various instruments. There'd been steel, yes, but she wasn't actually injured, and the impulse to lick her wounds was a slightly ridiculous one. Silence was, in this case, the best détente.

He seemed to agree, lifting his hands to his mouth, resting his elbows on his thighs as he leaned forward, looking down. They watched the stage quietly, listening. Vulcan music was such an atonal din…

There was only so much of it she could be expected to endure, and so she soon found other ways to amuse herself. Observation was a skill best kept well-honed. If she couldn't look at him, then she'd look elsewhere. People, people everywhere, living their lives, soft and unknowing and amusing in their little eccentricities…

Ah—!

"There's your young man." She kept her voice low, pointed with one finger, didn't look at how her Cardassian's eyelids flickered.

"Ah?"

"Oh? Were you already watching him?"

No response.

"And with this marvellous concert going on right before us. Tsk." She smiled, looking at the stage. "Does he really hold your attention so completely?"

"I'm not certain there's any advantageous answer to that question."

"That doesn't usually stop you, Cardassian. Where are your little jabs? Where is your attack?" She puffed a quiet laugh, keeping the noise level low, keeping the conversation in their own little bubble of privacy. "He's making you soft."

No response. Again!

Well, she'd make her own amusement, then. If he wouldn't be a sparring partner, he'd serve well enough as a target. "You're a glass of tepid water, Mister Elim _Garak._ I came here looking for heat, and you're barely warm enough to warm my skin." Her smile stretched. "I hope your young man likes his baths cold."

"He is none of your concern." Again the note of warning. Excellent.

"So you've informed me. Hmph. A pity. You might at least share. There's certainly enough of him to go around."

She could feel his glance at that one. Ah. A rich vein… _Let it bleed._ She leaned forward, let herself sigh.

"Such a pretty, pretty thing. Pretty face, pretty legs. Is all of him that pretty?"

Silence. She smiled to herself. And look at that…

"Look, Cardassian. See how his hands move?" For the sweet little creature had his hands up in the air now, moving side to side to the dreadful atonal rhythms seeping from the stage. "Look at his fingers."

Beside her, she felt him shift, lean to look. "Hmm."

"He plays."

"So it would appear." His voice was very calm.

She let herself laugh low in her throat. "You didn't know?"

"It hasn't come up."

"That never used to matter."

"I'm sorry to learn that you don't know the difference between how one speaks to a partner and how one speaks to a target. That must be difficult for you."

Hmm. That was a touch. Shift the subject. "It must be pleasant to be so well-entrenched in a relationship and to still have so many secrets. I imagine it must make for fascinating pillow-talk."

Silence, and she couldn't resist darting a glance his way—

"Well? Does it?"

"Must we discuss this?"

"I can't see how I could possibly resist."

"I'd prefer to listen to the concert, thank you—"

"Really?  _No_ pillow-talk at _all?"_

Now he looked at her, and his pupils were very small, tiny black holes in those whirling pools of blue. Once she'd seen them look down at her, cold as mirrors, while he'd touched her. This wasn't quite the same… still, they were mirrors.

"I will thank you to leave the subject alone."

She saw herself in his eyes, lovely and laughing and dripping poison.

"How can I? I'm so _curious."_

He turned back to the show, ignoring her pointedly, and that was fine, there was more than one way to gut a sehlat—

"He's curious too. Look at him."

Yes, the little delicacy was looking back up at them now. No—at _her._ She looked back at him, smiling, flickering a wave—

Oh, her Cardassian was unhappy with this. He was shifting in his seat. She was sure that if she looked over, the angle of his shoulder would be offering her a stern reprimand. Such a shame that Rihannsu didn't typically speak Cardassian body-talk… and what a lovely chance to be boringly typical.

Another look from the delicacy. This time it was a glare. She met it, laughing, and his eyes widened… and then he smiled, too, teeth bared.

_Oh! Do you like competition?_

One of the delicacy's friends was leaning over, tugging at his shoulder, and how she wished she could listen in—

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a nod to Vyc's fantastic [An Evening With Schoenberg](http://archiveofourown.org/works/864106) in here. Did you catch it?


	6. Chapter 6

"—stop looking at her and just have some fucking _fun,_ all right?"

"I am having fun!"

"What a bitch, she thinks she can ruin your night—"

"She doesn't bother me—"

"I am so _fucking_ angry, I should go up there and—"

"Do _not_ do that, Rij, I swear to God—"

"But she shouldn't—Prophets, who the fuck does she think—"

Tuveski had been doing his best to ignore all of this weird scary-boyfriend-Julian-drama, beyond the bits that were funny. It wasn't his business, really, and when he wasn't even allowed to tweak Julian about it, he might as well just stay out. Pissing off Rij wasn't fun. Julian being awkward and untweaked was irritating. Better to just enjoy the concert as much as he could, to look around at Vulcans rocking out in a sedate kind of way and to try to catch the scent of Rij and maybe a smile now and then…

But Rij wasn't smiling. Rij was _pissed._

"I'm gonna kick her ass."

"Rij—"

And Rij pissed could potentially cause problems. Rij glaring up at Rihanha was definitely going to cause an issue. Rihanha pointedly ignoring Rij was potentially the burning fuse on a small, nice-smelling, Rij-shaped bomb.

"I'm fine, I promise, stop worrying about me."

Rij was past hearing Julian.

"Damn it, she _loves_ this. Every time you look up there she gets _worse."_

Okay, that was it, Tuveski kind of had to look now, and he turned as Julian did, following Rij's gaze—

Um. Yeah. Scary lady was openly laughing down at them. Scary lady _waved_.

Rij made a low noise, and Tuveski figured the expression Julian's face probably matched his own right now. _Scary lady, I am both delighted that you aren't down here right now and kind of sorry you're not._ Oh, the ass-kicking that could potentially ensure…

Meanwhile, less-than-scary not-librarian-Garak, next to the source of all problems, looked like a stone statue. Too far away to make out his facial expression, aside from the fact that he was not smiling.

"She's not even trying anything with him now, you know—she just knows she pisses you off!"

"I don't care about her—"

"Then stop _looking!"_

"It's hardly me looking anymore, is it? Calm down, Rij—"

"Please be silent," said someone behind them very calmly. "It is difficult to hear the concert."

"Sorry, sorry," said Julian, "we'll be quiet, _won't we."_

Aaaand that was Julian, actually handling a social situation. Tuveski figured he could probably use some backup, as this had to be a new and terrifying experience. "No stress, Rij. Julian's fine. Right?"

Emphatic, spiky-haired nodding, and an arm around Rij's shoulder to turn her around, back to face the stage, did Julian have to wrap his arm around her quite that tightly, _chill out, Tuveski, are you five?_

Meanwhile Rij leaned against Julian, frowning, whispering furiously: "Fine. Fine. But she's an asshole who has it in for you, and I'm not okay with that."

"I've got a fair bit of practice with assholes who have it in for me," said Julian softly, with a quick glance at Tuveski—

 _Hey!_ Okay, if Julian wanted to start something—

—but wait, look at that: Rij was grinning, maybe a bit reluctantly, but she was grinning. Julian's smile was small but steady, and he raised his eyebrows at Tuveski.

_Holy Prophets. He wants me to play along._

Well, if it made Rij smile, he could collaborate with Julian. It probably wouldn't cost him his _entire_ pagh. He slapped on a smile, squared his shoulders, made his voice conspiratorial: "Seriously, Rij. If he can deal with me, he can deal with what's-her-face. Prophets know he's had to put up with me for longer, and I go a lot fucking harder on him." He pretended to study Julian's face carefully. "If he hasn't punched me yet, she hasn't got a chance of getting under his skin."

"Thank you, Mister Utan," said Julian, half-pissed-off, half-laughing.

He sketched a bow. "You're welcome, Mister Bashir."

"You two are the biggest fucking losers, I swear by the Prophets." Rij shrugged away from Julian, laughed at both of them.

"This is known," said Julian solemnly, and even Tuveski had to crack a grin at that one.

But they were getting Looked At again and it was shut up time, especially because the Voices of Logic had taken their last formal bow and were trooping off en masse, and suddenly it was dark, suddenly lights were flashing, suddenly the voices of everyone in the stadium were blending into an excited, throbbing murmur-rising-to-hum-rising-to-roar and was it, was she, yes she was, oh, Prophets, every time she was amazing, it was—


	7. Chapter 7

"—that's Plixx Tixxaplik?"

"Indeed," murmured her Cardassian, rubbing his lips, watching with every evidence of enjoyment.

She looked back at the stage, looked at him, at the stage, at the auditorium full of people swaying, screaming—

_Honestly?_

It was cacophony!

On the stage, the woman screamed, rainbow hair swooping with her movements, glitter covering her skin, and the lights flashed around her, making patterns on her, on the stage, on the musicians around her; meanwhile the bass boomed deafeningly, thudding insistently, invasively, and she was suddenly aware that she couldn't see properly, couldn't hear a thing, was surrounded by strangers—

Her purse was there between her legs. She moved quickly, pulled it to her lap, rested her hand just inside, breathed, _fvadt, fvadt, o, Ajoi—_

"It's all right."

She barely heard him over the noise, looked over at him with eyes wider than she wanted.

"You're safe," he said, face, voice, and body all perfectly calm.

"Nowhere is ever safe," she bit out, hand closing in her purse.

At that, his mouth twitched; his eye-roll was eloquent. "Of course. But I promise you: no one knows you're here, and you are safe."

All around her was noise, echoing, reverberant. It swallowed her senses whole. "Thank you for your platitudes, but I'm quite fine."

"Not a platitude, not at all." He smiled. "Simply a reminder."

She looked at him, breathing hard, narrowing her vision to his face as sound drowned her, as her awareness was compromised on all sides. _My target indeed._ She ought to know by now that, even without a weapon, he was never unarmed—

"What _are_ you? Truly?"

"Nothing more than a simple tailor, my dear."

But he knew her, and he remembered her, and he _couldn't_ be inactive, could he? Who would throw him away? Knowing what he knew, what he had done and could do— Who could be so blind?

"You don't fool me!"

"I've always considered you to be very perceptive," he said, smiling, and she looked away, furious. He was playing her for a fool. Or, even worse, he was genuinely trying to be _kind._ Either way, it was intolerable, and there was no satisfaction here, none at all.

_I knew what I was getting into when I came here. I knew the game I was playing._

She looked away into flashing lights and darkness and the howling, half-seen crowd, needing to refocus, to find something else, and there was one weak spot she knew of now, where was he, _there_ he was—

"I see your 'boyfriend' is having a good time." Pitching her voice so as to slip through the noise-clouded air, sharp and well-aimed, just there between the fourth and fifth ribs…

A brief silence between the drum beats. From her star-speckled peripheral vision, she saw his frozen expression, saw him turn and look.

"Hmm." And then a small laugh. "He is, isn't he."

Stretched tall, long arms reaching, the delicacy was moving to the music, lost in the lights and the sound, with not a thought in his pretty head. Elements, he was ornamental, if nothing else, so disappointingly nothing else.

"Look at him." She shook her head, forcing boredom on to her face. "Does he ever pay attention to what's around him?"

"He paid a great deal of attention to you." Her Cardassian's voice was mild.

"Oh, yes." She laughed. "Completely distracted by the one new element in his surroundings. Honestly." She shook her head. "He'd be dead ten times over in a day of my work. Or of yours."

"Being pricked by a needle isn't nearly as deadly as you seem to think it is."

Oh, _enough._ "Don't play games with me."

"You don't like my games? Then why ever are you here?" That slightly arrogant tone, that hint of a laugh, barely heard through sound and light—

"I begin to wonder." But it seemed to matter for some reason, it felt important to make him answer— "He doesn't understand you, you know. He doesn't know a thing about you."

He looked at her, unblinking. "As I prefer."

"And when he learns? When he knows who you really are?"

"It will be an interesting day."

"He'll _run,_ Cardassian, if he doesn't turn you in." Didn't he understand?

"It's probable. It would certainly be the wisest thing to do."

"And once he's gone, he won't seek you out again." _Not like me,_ Elements, she was a fool, what had she thought she'd find?

"Nor should he. Nor should anyone." His sigh was barely audible. "I'm afraid I'm not nearly as entertaining as I used to be."

"Entertaining—damn you!" Her nails dug into her palms. "People like us die young, Cardassian—why are you wasting your time with—"

"My very dear Romulan," as his head turned quickly, as his eyes and smile flashed wide and under his voice, Plixx roared defiance, "perhaps you haven't heard: I am already dead."

It shouldn't matter, it shouldn't hurt, and yet it did—and now the boy was looking up at them again, looking up at her, and she didn't even have the energy to muster a proper snarl, let alone a laugh. The noise was intolerable, the flickering light half-blinding.

Wait, was he—

He wasn't looking at her! He was looking at the Cardassian—at _Garak!_

He was smiling at Garak! He was lifting his hands, he was—

She looked over at Garak, watched his face, how his eyes widened—

The boy's fingers were interlaced, palms pressed together, and his gaze was only for Garak, only for the man sitting next to her pretending to be something he shouldn't, pretending to be so much _less—_

And Garak, the tailor, smiled down at the boy and pressed his own palms together, angled himself, interlaced his fingers: nothing more than a plain and simple Cardassian in fatuous, nauseating love.

"You are the best liar I've ever met," she said under her breath.

"I have to be," he said, still smiling, and met her eyes.

Air, she needed air, and at least the boy had turned around again, wasn't looking, didn't see her shrug her purse on to her shoulder and stand—

"Leaving so soon?" asked Garak, looking up at her, not her Cardassian at all. Only his eyes were familiar, and all they reflected was her own face.

"You'll never see me again."

"A pity." He looked back to the concert, smiling faintly. "Take the 401 when you leave town. I believe you'll find it most suitable to your needs."

Professional courtesies. Very probably, there was no assassin travelling that road, no ambush waiting to sideswipe her car and leave her in a ditch. How stupid she'd been to make contact with him. How naive to believe that he truly was nothing, now.

"Bed aoi, Card'hassinha."  

"Khelhaes temhavra," he said, not looking at her, not following her with his eyes, nothing left for her at all as she shoved her way through the protesting crowd, climbed the stairs, pushed her way out of the building into freedom and the night and breathed, breathed deep.

Ten minutes later she was in her car and on the road, moving, accelerating, and everything was better, because the car smelled of emptiness and unimportant histories and soon, once her heart calmed, once she was away and safe, that would be all she wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rihannsu sourced from [the Imperial Romulan Language Institute](http://www.rihan.org/drupal/).


	8. Chapter 8

_it’s pretty obvious that you’ve got a crush (you know)_  
_that magic in your pants, it’s making me blush (for sure)_

 * * * 

"So he's having fun, I guess," whispered Rij in his ear, hot breath and soft lips and oh Prophets not now not now _breathe_ but also yes, that was her hand on his shoulder. Her actual hand was on his actual shoulder.

Plixx Tixxaplik gyrated onstage, dancers forming a phalanx that surrounded her and lifted her high. There were fireworks somewhere. It seemed appropriate.

"Yeah," no, wait, try again without quite so much frog-croak, "yeah, I guess so."

They looked over at Julian, who was currently lost in Plixx-worship. His arms were up, his mouth was open, and the noises he was making—when they weren't lost in the roar of the crowd—were a long way off from his standard semi-polished tones. _What a dork._

"He's tough, you know." Her voice was soft. "I worry about him… but you know, I don't have to, do I…"

 _Whatever you say, as long as it's right in my ear._ "Yeah, he's… he's tough."

Suddenly Rij turned, _shit,_ shaded her eyes, _oh, shit,_ looked back, and Tuveski braced himself for another explosion—

"Hey. She's gone!"

Tuveski craned his head. Rij was right. Present and accounted for: one slightly chubby unscary-Garak, seen in strobe-flashes, not too far away and apparently enjoying himself just fine. He was smiling, anyway. And scary lady was definitely gone. Beside Garak was now an empty seat.

"Wonder where she went?"

Rij's smile sliced through the night, red in the strobe. "I know where she went."

"So?"

"She gave up." There was an awful lot of satisfaction in her tone. Very hara-cat-full-of-nibblers.

"You think?"

"I know," said Rij, and nodded, grinning. "I knew she would. Bitch couldn't last."

Tuveski didn't wince. "You knew."

"Sure. If you don't let them get to you, they give up."

She spoke as if she knew, and Tuveski looked at her, saw her looking back at him. Was that a reprimand…? But Julian was so fucking _annoying—_

She was speaking again. "And anyway, I mean… she couldn't compete."

He took another look at gyrating Julian, all arms and elbows and knees. He remembered Rihanha, dark and dangerous, just as tall, just as thin, and sinuous as a snake. Not that he was any expert on the taste of librarians, but…

"You really figured he had this one sealed up, huh?"

"Hey. Give him some credit." Rij's eyes were big and dark, reprimanding. "I don't hang out with him just because he's pretty, you know."

To Rij, tall and thin and awkward was pretty. Not, say, shortish and roundish and sarcastic as hell. "Well, that's reassuring."

"He's smart. And he's nice. And he's Game."

 _Smart,_ okay, he could work with that. _Nice…_ that was harder, at least when Julian was around… but for Rij, _aargh,_ he could try. That last one, though… "'Game'?"

"Up for anything. He takes risks. He doesn't worry about looking stupid. He just wants to have fun." There were sharp white teeth behind that pretty red-lipped smile. "And I like that."

_I am a Fed studies major. I have never been anywhere more exciting than Risa. The biggest risk I've ever taken in my life was growing this fucking goatee._

"So that's what you like in a guy, huh?"

"It helps," she said, still close, still smiling, and he could just reach out and he could—but that would—and what if she—

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

"So what kind of woman are you looking for, Tuveski?" asked Rij, watching his face, Prophets, was he blushing? He probably was, this was the worst, _never mind, get me out of here!_

And he probably would've run. He probably would've made some kind of excuse and left and hated himself for it, except—

"You," said his mouth, as his brain slid down his neck, past his stomach, and into his socks, _oh, fuck, abandon ship, that was so fucking lame I can't—_

"Really," said Rij, and her hand came up and touched his face. "What a coincidence."

"That was a terrible line, shit, I am so sorry," he said, and she laughed at him, and there went his mouth again as he leaned in and oh, Prophets, her lips were soft—just one touch, just the softest touch, and a little sigh against his mouth, and then softness again and her hands were on his jaw and he was weirdly grasping her head, Plixx had started a ballad, oh, this was awkward as shit and if it could just never end that would be perfect—

"Oh, _shit._ You guys, oh, my God!"

_I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna actually—_

"Prophets' sake, Julian," sighed Rij, "could you maybe not for just a second?"

"I didn't know you two were—but I—I'm sorry, I—"

"Guy, it's fine." The moment was gone. Beyond gone. Gone was miles away. "Maybe not quite so much with the complete and utter shock, though."

"Fuck, Tuveski," and Julian ran a hand through his hair, leaving it a ruined desolation of hair wax and dreams. "God, that was not an image I needed."

"Thanks a fucking lot, wooer-of-librarians—"

"Oh, for _fuck's_ sake, you two—knock it off!" Rij had his hand now, and 'had his hand' was the right way of putting it: felt like a death grip, and those little round nails were surprisingly sharp. "Julian: grow up. Tuveski: shut up."

_Nice. Nice. Nice. Be nice._

Death glares all around, but nobody was talking. Plixx sang softly on, her love song just background noise at this point. "Thank you, Kahless almighty," said some giant dude next to them, "we came to hear the concert, not your fucking sitcom." A concurring, extremely calm murmur behind them agreed. Huh. Apparently some Vulcans _did_ like their Plixx.

"Sorry," said Rij, and pulled out her phone with a Significant Gesture. Julian and Tuveski followed suit. Qapla'Talk was already blinking.

_TR: be nice j ffs_

_JB: sry was a bit surprised_

_UT: Really? But your reaction was so measured!_

Another death glare. But he'd been nice. Hmm. That _was_ fun.

_JB: ill leave ok?_

_TR: what? why?_

_JB: 3 is a crowd_

_TR: don't be ridic!_

Wait, wait, was she kidding? This was brilliant. Brilliant and _nice._

_UT: No, wait: it's a good idea. You'll have more fun with Garak anyway. And he needs the company, right?_

If Julian kept glaring at him like that, he was in actual danger of losing an eye.

_UT: I am, for once, not being a prick. Look. Scary lady is gone. Poor lonely Garak!_

Julian looked. His eyebrows shot up.

_TR: see you win :D_

_JB: not a contest_

_TR: sure ok also YOU WIN_

_UT: Look. He's looking at us. He misses you._

He waved, and after a moment, he saw Garak's hand lift for a wave back. Looked like there was a smile on that pale face. _What is it like to be you, weird, strange man?_ But before he could think about it for more than a second, Julian grabbed his arm, frowning.

"Stop it!"

"Ah, ah, ah—shhhh!" He held up his phone, grinning. Julian scowled and stabbed at his screen.

_JB: could u not embarrass me pls_

_UT: I'm not trying to. I'm just politely letting you know, as a friend, that your boyfriend misses you._

Rij was giving him some thoroughly enjoyable side-eye. He smiled at her, mouthed: _Nice!_

_TR: ok ski is right_

_TR: & i am ok with you going_

_TR: so GO ALREADY!!!!_

There was the strangest look on Julian's face. Tuveski couldn't quite tell if it was hope or desperation.

_JB: rly??_

_TR: sttp, guy, i think it's true love_

_JB: fuck off :D_

_TR: you fuck off :D_

How adorable. "Go," Tuveski hissed, and pointed adamantly. "Or I'll wave at him again."

Julian eyed the two of them, scrunched up his face, and gave Rij a very pointed look.

"I know. I'm fine," she said, laughing. "Don't worry." Which Tuveski could have done without, really, but meanwhile it got Julian moving. Off he went scurrying through the crowd to the tune of a chorus of _oof ow watch it asshole!,_ which meant Tuveski no longer needed to deal with him, which meant that, oh, fuck, Rij was right there—

 _Shit, where did my Game go?_ Maybe he couldn't be Nice and Game, maybe he didn't know how to seize the moment, and maybe it didn't fucking matter because Rij touched his face, grinned up at him, and her lips were on his before he knew it—

Rij had enough Game for everybody.


	9. Chapter 9

_i hear your heart beat to the beat of the drum_  
_oh what a shame that you came here with someone_  
_so while you’re here in my arms_  
_let’s make the most of the night like we’re gonna die young_

* * *

"Nice night."

"Yeah…"

"Good show too."

"Mmm…"

"Don't you want to chat? Maybe play 'what the fuck'?"

"No. Not really."

"I can live with that… oh, hey, look who it is!"

"Mmm…? Oh, Prophets—"

"Awww, that's—"

"Don't let me look again. Argh, I can't help it—oh, my eyes—"

"Be nice."

"They can't hear me… You said Cardassians don't kiss in public."

"That's what I thought. Looks like maybe he figured out he's not in Cardassia."

"Great. Just great. Prophets. Ick. I do _not_ wanna look at that."

"Then stop."

"I can't. It's like an accident scene. Oh, no, Julian's got his hand on his—"

"Huh. Well, good for you, Julian."

"Don't tell me. Just let me hide. Right here."

"Hey… heh, that tickles—don't be such a baby. Just don't look."

"It's l'appel du vide, I can't help it—"

"Their cab will turn up soon."

"Cab?"

"He texted me. 'I don't need a ride home.'"

"Uh huh…"

"So they'll be heading out together. So cute…"

"Or _we_ could go—"

"I'm not trying to get out of the parking lot in this mess. It's gonna take at least half an hour for the traffic to clear. We're staying right here."

"Aargh. My eyes may not survive, let alone my sanity…"

"I thought you might like a little more time with me."

"What? Oh—Rij, Prophets, I want _all_ the time with you!"

"That's a big offer based on half a Plixx concert."

"Shit. No. I—sorry, that's not what I—fuck. How do you _do_ this to me?"

"Do what?"

"You turn me into the biggest idiot. I have no idea what to say around you."

"You manage fine. And I like you being an idiot."

"Thanks. I think."

"I like you being smart too."

"That's good."

"And I like you being nice. Even when you're doing it for your own twisted reasons."

"What?"

"Tonight. Julian."

"I… um…"

"You tipped him off to Garak. That was nice."

"Yeah, that wasn't really my end goal—"

"I know. But it's a start. Oh—look at that."

"Tell me it's a cab. I don't even want to think of what else it could be."

"It is a cab. And they are getting in… and they are leaving."

"Oh, thank the Prophets…"

"Poor thing. You know, weird as they are together, it really does work. Maybe it is true love."

"What… them? Sure. Absolutely. Obvious. Prophets, you smell amazing."

"Mmm. Not bad yourself. I really like this little beard thing."

"You… you do?"

"You should keep it."

"Done. Show me where to sign. It stays forever."

"There you go again with the big promises… mmm. It's a bit tickly."

"Is that all right?"

"I'll get used to it. I think I just need more exposure to it. Lots and lots. All of tonight, for starters. Come here."


End file.
